


tell the whole world that you're mine

by pensee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Grease AU, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Semi-Public Sex, They try their best to be good for each other, bucky loves steve, mentions of rimming, steve loves bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23243617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/pseuds/pensee
Summary: The entire town is at the drive in tonight, some old movie where the girls scream too loud and the villains look a little too gleeful to be believable, and Steve knows it’s neither wise nor prudent to reach over for Bucky’s thigh in the near dark, trace his fingers up the inseam of those well-worn jeans.He does it anyway, biting down on a smirk as he hears the small, startled noise that escapes from Bucky’s lips.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 79





	tell the whole world that you're mine

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Grease.

The entire town is at the drive in tonight, some old movie where the girls scream too loud and the villains look a little too gleeful to be believable, and Steve knows it’s neither wise nor prudent to reach over for Bucky’s thigh in the near dark, trace his fingers up the inseam of those well-worn jeans.

He does it anyway, biting down on a smirk as he hears the small, startled noise that escapes from Bucky’s lips.

Bucky’s parked in the middle of the lane, and they’re surrounded by people and noise and the movie dialogue, but Steve would be able to pick out Bucky’s pleasured gasp blind. “Rogers,” Bucky hisses, knowing that drawing attention would make a scene.

Bucky’s other friends would give him shit about hanging out with stringy Steve Rogers, who has asthma and wouldn’t know cool if it punched him in the face, and Steve would probably test that theory, lashing out to defend his own honor. No one else would, anyway; no one but Bucky.

He studies the other boy, reflected in the rapid flickering of the movie reel, high cheekbones and artfully coiffed hair, cigarette peeking out of the corner of a red, wonderful mouth that had Steve knocking his head against his bedroom wall earlier today, trying to stifle the sounds that rose out of his chest, unbidden.

Bucky had smiled wickedly, cigarette tucked behind his ear, and they’d tangled in Steve’s sheets after, passing it back and forth. Steve could never handle the acrid tang of smoke in his lungs before they’d met, but the mind-blowing sex that came with it always made the discomfort more tolerable.

(It was some tiny miracle he’d outgrown his childhood asthma; he wasn’t gonna give Bucky any more reason to bag on him by not smoking like everyone else (although he wouldn’t look too closely at that, either, how Bucky knew he wasn’t like everyone else and didn’t give a shit).)

“Getting shy on me now, Barnes?” Steve says, hand pausing over Bucky’s zipper, half-hard and growing much more interested. Bucky leans in, and Steve thinks he’s going to snort some remark about _not here_ or _the fuck are you thinking_ , but he does one better, smirking naughty promises into Steve’s neck. “After the movie, I’ll park us up at Jameson Point. Eat you out in the backseat, huh, baby?”

Steve still feels weak at the knees every time Bucky makes it clear he wants him, no one else, that he isn’t whispering dirty nothings to the girls he winks at when they’re at the diner or at work or any other place they haunt. He’s still sore that Bucky insists on calling him girly nicknames, though, so he moves his hand away from Bucky’s crotch, smirking at the other boy’s frustrated groan.

“What’d you do that for?” he asks, looking through the windshield to check if anyone’s watching before he moves closer, sliding across the bench seat until their legs are touching. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Stevie,” he breathes against Steve’s neck, and Steve feels goose bumps break out along the skin there.

“Get enough of those damned nicknames from your crew, don’t need to hear em’ from you, dig?” Steve says, knowing that this is the one and only time they’ll need to have this conversation. Bucky’s a sucker to please people, especially him.

“They just don’t appreciate how fucking beautiful you are,” Bucky murmurs, bolder now, pressing a furtive kiss to the edge of Steve’s mouth, slinging an arm around his shoulders. He doesn’t have to reach far, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, ghosting his other hand over the bulge in Steve’s slacks. “Lemme do you a solid, baby. Just this once,” Bucky says, and Steve can feel himself blushing.

“Jimmy, you don’t take your hand outta my pants, I’m never going down on you again,” Steve says. It’s not a viable threat, but it’ll slow down things from getting embarrassing. Bucky slumps back against the seat, but doesn’t remove the arm he’s got around Steve’s shoulders, palming his own cock through his jeans.

“Then I might just finish without you,” he teases, catches Steve’s eye when he finds the right rhythm, rolling his hips into his own broad hand. Steve rolls his eyes, because it’s just like Bucky to be getting off in public; there’d been such a hailstorm of bullshit circulating after Miranda had claimed he’d fingered her in the public library bathroom, came all over the stall wall after she wrapped her hands around his dick and returned the favor. Steve hasn’t seen the stall in person, but he doesn’t doubt it actually happened.

“Love it when you call me Jimmy,” Bucky whispers, leaning in close again. His pupils are blown, and Steve really wishes they were alone at Jameson Point already, so he can get his rocks off too. “Punk’s name for a punk,” Steve says, but his voice is rougher than normal, mouth dry. He doesn’t ever struggle for words as much as he does when he’s with Bucky.

“ _Your_ punk,” Bucky emphasizes, rocking against his own broad palm like it’s going out of style, free hand grabbing at Steve’s shoulder, desperate for just the right touch. He lets out a breathy exhale as Steve peers through the windshield, hears and sees the chick on screen let out a high-pitched wail of distress. He snorts at the poetic irony, Bucky stretching out, lying back against the window frame, cool and sated like always. He tosses his feet onto the dash, boots caked with mud and who knows what else, as Steve swats them down.

Bucky giggles. “My Ma’ll sure appreciate how you’ve been keepin’ me in line,” he says, already reaching for the ubiquitous cigarette tucked behind his ear. He lost his last lighter in a poker bet against Wilson, so he draws a pack of matches out of his pocket, strikes one and lights up, shaking the flame out once he’s done. The windows are rolled up because they hadn’t come here to really pay attention to the movie anyway, and Steve starts coughing in earnest once the smoke hits his lungs.

 _So much for toughing it out_ , he thinks, face flushing at the memory of being able to take a decent fucking puff the other day, what the hell was wrong with him _now_?

Bucky flies out of his seat, and starts unrolling the window, gesturing for Steve to do the same to the driver’s side. “Fuck; that was so stupid, Stevie. I’m sorry,” he apologizes, as earnest as Steve’s ever seen him. They’re usually together shooting the breeze whenever they get the chance, talk about movies and tunes and going out dancing, but it’s nice to know somebody other than Wilson, Nat, or his Ma cared about him.

Bucky tosses the cigarette out his window, the smoke quickly dissipating as Steve takes deep breaths, forces his body to cooperate. He’s past being embarrassed (not like Bucky hasn’t seen him at his worst), but he now feels a whole lot more like he wants to go home and crawl into bed rather than drive up for a quick shag at the Point.

He tries for subtle. “This flick is a rip off,” he says, knows Bucky would just let him drive home, no harm, no foul, if he asked. Bucky shrugs, scratches the cropped hair at the base of his neck.

“Guess so,” he says, still feeling selfish for lighting up without thinking about Steve’s sensitive lungs. “How about I drive you to your apartment, sneak up when your landlady’s not looking?” Steve suggests, key already in the ignition. Bucky smirks. “Old coot’s eyein’ you up,” he says, blue eyes shimmering against the light from the screen. “But she ain’t gonna take my baby from me.”

Steve scoffs. “Well, she’s got quite a kisser on her; maybe she will,” he says, and Bucky claps a mocking hand over his own heart. “That hurts, Stevie,” he says, and Steve starts up the secondhand Chevy. Despite their neighbors’ grumbling, he maneuvers between the tightly packed vehicles and manages to steer them out of the sea of cars and onto the road.

Bucky doesn’t say much on the drive back, just looks at Steve with a blissful grin that’s a longstanding manifestation of the happiness that lives in his friend’s veins. It’s natural and sure as heck not forced, and Steve’s envious for a moment, before he admits he’s been feeling a lot of the same happiness lately. His Ma had gotten transferred to the local hospital after the small clinic she’d worked for folded, and he’d stumbled into senior year with as much grace as he had all the other years (none at all).

Bucky, a stone-cold fox if he’d ever seen one, had been the first person in town he really connected with, though they’d had a rough start. To Steve’s eternal surprise, Bucky hadn’t tried to shove his head into the toilet after class, had kissed him against the lockers in G Hall and murmured something about a dare to pop the nerdy silver bullet’s cherry. Steve had pushed him away, told him he was about as much of a silver bullet as Bucky was an ugly duckling, amused when Bucky glared at him like he was actually considering his physical appearance as anything less than stunning, just because Steve suggested it.

They hadn’t fucked till after graduation, but as soon as they did, they seemed to occupy every spare moment, and in positions Steve had only read about in that sex book everyone was raving about. Steve wasn’t a silver bullet by far, but Bucky had been around the block more than once, and knew how to use it to his advantage. The first time they’d done it, Steve was in the process of finding his own place and had felt so guilty for snatching a bit of cooking oil out of the cabinet to use as slick, but Bucky had just called him precious and proceeded to work him open using his hands and his damned tongue.

Steve insisted that the oil couldn’t taste good at all, much less after being applied _down there_ , but Bucky had just smiled, lips red and smeared with sin and claimed he didn’t mind. Bucky’s friends from school and work and even the waitresses at the diner always gave him flack about hanging around Steve, who was weird for liking art and music instead of cars and kickin’ shit around, but Steve didn’t mind because Bucky always told them to stick it and would wrap his arm around Steve’s shoulders like it belonged there, cuz it did.

“If you think I’m sucking you off,” Steve says when they pull up to the pastel purple apartment complex where Bucky’s renting, “You got another thing coming. Clean up, and maybe I’ll think about anything but passing out on your couch.”

Bucky’s eyes are alarmed, but his natural charm takes over and he crudely adjusts himself in his jeans, heedless of the wet still seeping down his thigh, marching up the stairs saying, “We don’t have to fucking fool around if you don’t want. Watch something on the boob tube, heat up some popcorn that ain’t the overpriced shit they sell at the drive in.”

Steve isn’t gonna lie and say that coughing his guts out a few minutes ago hasn’t spoiled his erection, but he’d been promised sex, so he was gonna get it. Bucky’s already stripped when he gets inside and locks the door, completely unashamed of his nudity, miles of pale skin on display. He grins cheekily at Steve over his shoulder, headed toward the shower.

“Gonna join me, honey?” he asks, and Steve’s caught between yes and no. The humid air would aggravate his lungs, but he feels like doing it under a slurry of hot water, cold tiles at his back, would be good enough to compensate. “Geez,” he breathes; when did this become his life?

Bucky’s soaping up when Steve comes into the bathroom and starts removing his shirt, his pants. He’s not self-conscious, but there are days when he wishes he could be better, taller, stronger. Bucky drags him into the stall, shakes water out of his eyes. “Clean enough to satisfy your delicate sensibilities?” he says, passing Steve the soap.

 _Oh_.

He doesn’t do Bucky as often as it is the other way around, but apparently Bucky wants to try something different tonight. He holds the slippery bar of soap between his hands, hoping he doesn’t do something stupid like drop it before he’s steady enough to do what’s intended. He works a bit of it along his hands, tries not to tremble in anticipation.

“Turn around,” he tells Bucky, sees the nearly imperceptible shiver that travels up Bucky’s spine as he acquiesces.

“ _Fuck_ , Stevie,” he says, as Steve slips a finger in, soap almost as good as lube.

“Getting to that part,” Steve grunts, dick very interested in the proceedings. It’s either get a hand on himself or drop the soap in the literal sense, so he ignores the ache between his legs for a moment and chucks the bar onto the bathroom floor, Bucky laughing breathily as Steve explains his predicament.

The laugh turns into a pleasured groan when Steve works another finger in. Bucky could probably take an entire fist, had once talked about it over the phone until Steve’s face turned beet-red at the thought of his thin fingers stretching out this small part of Bucky. He eventually gives him a fourth finger, Bucky working himself in his fist when Steve insists on drawing this out. Steve isn’t going to touch himself, because he’ll probably come from the sight of Bucky curled around his fingers if he does.

“Should draw you like this,” he says, thinking aloud.

“With all that lookin’, you’ll be able to do it from memory,” Bucky pants. “Hurry up, damn it.”

Steve concedes because his dick is practically screaming at him to get on with it, and when he finally sinks into Bucky’s tight heat, he gasps at the sensation. They haven’t done it like this in a long time, and he wants to remember every moment of it.

Bucky’s all loose limbs and easy smiles, catcalls with his crew and never lets anyone push him around, but he’s still as strong and still as lovely writhing under Steve, cussing slang Steve’s never heard of but that gets him hot all the same. He wraps a hand around Bucky’s cock, and Bucky braces his hands along the wall.

“Don’t want us topplin’ over,” he says, moaning when Steve rocks his hips at a sharper angle, hitting his prostate.

Warmth trails up Steve’s spine as he tries to put his back into it, aligns his dick with that place again and again. He’s been on the edge of pleasure since Bucky told him he was going to eat him out on the Point, and the thought of Bucky’s tongue, messy and fine, tugs that bit of pleasure out of him as Steve spills into him, shower water cooling at his back.

Bucky rocks up into Steve’s hand, fucks himself along the length of Steve’s cock, spurts come onto the wall. Steve watches, lazy and sated, as it trails down the slippery tiles.

“I believe you said something about eating me out,” he says when they’re stretched across Bucky’s sheets, Steve tracing patterns onto Bucky’s ribs with his fingertips. Bucky smiles wickedly, and Steve thanks his lucky stars he’s got him.

“Smooch ya too, baby,” he laughs, pulling Steve to him, and Steve hasn’t ever said it, but give him time, they’ll think of something.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is from a while ago (aka years) and it's a little lighthearted and a little goofy, but I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it.
> 
> I'm on Twitter @penseeart if you're interested.


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